


misunderstanding

by demonsorceress



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: CW: alcohol, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 13:36:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2470172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonsorceress/pseuds/demonsorceress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance brings up his ex-wife yet again, surprising no one at all, and Skye tries to do something about it. And it backfires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	misunderstanding

Lance hears footsteps, but his curiosity to know who’s walking in isn’t enough to make him look away from the television screen. On his peripheral vision, he sees a skinny, not-so-tall figure wearing all black grab a beer from the six pack he brought. Skye steps closer and takes a seat beside him on the couch, and he’s still completely focused on the screen as he greets her, “Hey there.”

Skye replies with a “hi” in between taking sips of her beer. They don’t exchange any more words at first; they’ve been back from a mission just a couple of hours ago, and even though it went considerably well, they could both certainly use some alcohol and downtime. Skye just sits there in comfortable silence, watching his videogame soccer match and wondering how someone like Lance, someone who does the kind of things they do on a daily basis, can still be entertained by something as simple as this. A shooter game or something more thrilling, maybe? Understandable. But soccer? Honestly? Skye can’t even find this sport interesting in real life.

At some point Skye quits watching the match and sneaks a glance at the player himself. He holds the controller tightly, fingers moving swiftly across the buttons, his back arched towards the television because he’s too immersed in the game to just sit casually on the couch like a normal person. He catches Skye looking at his hands and asks, “Want to play?”

He gestures to the other controller sitting on the rack next to the videogame console, but Skye shakes her head. “Nope,” she answers.

"Alright then, I shall keep kicking the arse of this virtual opponent," he says in a bragging tone, and Skye checks the scoreboard to see if he’s right to brag.

“Don’t celebrate too soon,” Skye warns him. “The other team could still turn things around.”

Lance snorts. “I bet the Brazilian supporters believed the same thing, and then Germany scored their seventh goal.”

Skye nearly spits her beer when she laughs, even though she still feels truly bad for Brazil.

Lance suddenly tenses when one of the adversary’s player gets dangerously close to his team’s goal, but when the adversary tries to score, his goalie doesn’t disappoint. Lance breathes a sigh of relief.

“Told ya.” Skye can’t resist. “That was a close call there.”

“You’re distracting me,” he chides.

“Well, I like to think I’m way more interesting than a soccer game.”

“First of all, it’s called football,” he retorts emphatically and she rolls her eyes. “And second, don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.”

She’s about to come up with a snarky answer when she hears the whistle that indicates the end of the match, and the fake cheering gets louder. Skye should’ve noticed there were only a couple of minutes left in the match before she started teasing him about possibly losing.

“Told ya,” he repeats to her, his voice dripping with mockery, a proud smile on his lips. Skye tries not to think too much about how adorable he looks, though she highly doubts “adorable” is what he was going for with the scruff and leather jacket sort of look. “Third victory in a row,” he adds.

Lance drops the controller on the couch and stands up to get another beer. “That’s really incredible for you,” Skye remarks sarcastically. “But I recall Trip telling me you couldn’t win for shit against him and Mack.”

His face morphs from pride to bitterness. “That is ridiculous,” he says. “I hadone bad day, that’s all. Trip is simply butthurt because Mack kicked his arse spectacularly too.”

“You’re all a bunch of sore losers,” Skye teases. “So caught up in your fake football matches like 12-year-old boys.”

He sneers, taking a long sip of his beer, and when he drops on the couch next to her again, their shoulders bump. It’s not that large of a couch, really.

“You know who you remind me of, comparing me to a 12-year-old?” He starts, and she has a pretty good guess of whom he’s about to mention. It’s not like he doesn’t bring up the same topic at least five times a day. “My ex-wife. Except she was even more of a pain in the arse than you are.”

Skye shifts on the couch to face him and tilts her head. She could just roll her eyes, like she always does when he complains about his ex-wife, but it’s the perfect opportunity to tease him a little bit and she can’t miss it. “That’s really cute, you know,” she says, a playful smirk growing on her lips.

He frowns. “What?”

“How you keep going on and on about how much you despise your ex-wife to hide the fact that you’re still in love with her.”

He raises his eyebrows in surprise before bursting into laughter. “Please. I am definitely not in love with that-”

“You totally are,” Skye cuts him off. “You know what, maybe you should just cut the act already and, I don’t know, give her a call or something. Who knows.”

“Skye, what’s past stays in the past,” he says, which is very ironic considering he’s the one who so frequently brings up the past. “Trust me, I’m completely over her.”

Skye can’t help but laugh. He’s so hung up on his ex-wife and doesn’t even realize it. “Prove it, then,” she challenges him, already starting to plan some sort of wager that Trip and Mack will undoubtedly be interested in joining.

Lance, on the other hand, completely misinterprets what Skye means. Skye has no idea what he’s doing as he sways forward and rests his bottle of beer on the ground to free his hands, until they’re on her neck and he’s kissing her.

Skye knows she could’ve pulled back if she wanted to. His moves are slow and confident, and his hands aren’t there to hold her head in place but simply to move across her hair in a way that sends shivers down Skye’s spine, and so she kisses him back. He then deepens the kiss and places one steady hand on her waist to pull her closer, and Skye grabs a fistful of his brown leather jacket.

By the time they pull apart they’re both breathless and Skye tries really hard to pretend her mind didn’t just go completely blank. She can’t give him the pleasure of noticing his kiss affected her that bad.

She quickly stands up, avoiding his gaze, and says in the most nonchalant tone she can muster, “Not so bad, but I can’t deny I expected better.”

(She’s lying. Huge lie. The kiss was so on point Skye can barely contain the smirk threatening to spread across her face.)

She doesn’t see his reaction, but guesses it must be priceless. “By the way,” she adds, “what I meant was you could maybe shut up about your ex-wife for like two weeks to prove you’re not hung up on her. This didn’t prove anything.”

And with that she walks away.


End file.
